


Standing Still

by donniedont



Series: The Molinaro-Blaiddyd Clan [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Difficult Decisions, Family, Fatherhood, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Siblings, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniedont/pseuds/donniedont
Summary: After a sparring session with her little sister goes awry, Inyoung Molinaro-Blaiddyd finds herself being able to bring up her investment in the future of Fódlan with her father, Dedue.  Set in the same universe as "Rushing By," though not a direct sequel.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Series: The Molinaro-Blaiddyd Clan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564975
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ha_neul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ha_neul/gifts).



> As always, thank you so much for Cal (Ha_neul) for letting me play in this AU's sandbox again! Inyoung is a really special kid and it was so much fun to write from her point of view.
> 
> If you would like to know more about these Inyoung and her siblings, please check out Cal's [character bios](https://toyhou.se/carvaels/characters/folder:981495)!
> 
> Also, a huge note! Inyoung is nonbinary and Dedue is transmasc. I didn't find a way to really work that into the narrative, but it means a lot to me. Hence, Inyoung says she will become king, etc.
> 
>  **Content Warnings** Ableism, implied suicidal ideation, description of facial injury

It’s Ilya’s idea to play with the swords. They’re gifts from Uncle Felix’s latest diplomatic travels. The swords were apparently so impressive that even their dad asked to take a look at them, asking Uncle Felix for specifics about where and how they were made. Inyoung brings the blade in front of her face, allowing herself to admire how they’re beautifully crafted. She tilts it to observe the subtly engraved geographic pattern along the blade. They are a perfect balance of aesthetic and functionality, criteria that Uncle Felix always factors in when he gifts weapons to anyone.

Right now, Uncle Felix is with their fathers in the throne room, listening to all citizens who wish to stop by and speak to whatever concerns they think their dad can solve as king. With the tutors not starting lessons until after lunch, Ilya and Inyoung are able to be unattended in the training grounds. 

There’s a part of Inyoung that wants to hear what issues of the citizens of Fódlan bring forward. It’s a curiosity she has been working up the courage to ask her fathers about, apprehensive to open up the potential conversation she will have to have concerning the crown that is still unclaimed by any of the Molinaro-Blaiddyd children.

For now she’ll focus on her new sword and sparring with Ilya. At least her sister is a worthy opponent. Most of their peers are too timid when sparring with her, though she isn’t sure if it’s due to her personal reputation or the fear of her fathers reprimanding anybody who fought too rough. Ilya is content fighting without hesitation. Inyoung also enjoys the thrill of her spikes of super strength from her all but confirmed crest, but she’s not supposed to talk about that. 

Ilya is fighting at full force like usual, grinning whenever she’s able to block Inyoung. Inyoung grits her teeth and attempts to reevaluate her movements, trying to figure out if there’s a way that she can change it up enough to throw her little sister off. 

“Can’t figure out the new sword?” Ilya taunts before she strikes.

Inyoung blocks the hit, snapping, “You’re gonna get yours taken away if Dad or Papa hear you talking like that.”

Ilya pouts before she swings her sword again. Her form is sloppy and easy to block. Inyoung can’t help but smirk knowing that she has struck a nerve. Ilya squawks, stepping forward with enough force to make Inyoung launch back, landing on her ankle at an awkward enough angle that she stumbles. She barely has her balance back when Ilya swings her sword at her again. Inyoung doesn’t realize that the blade cut her face until Ilya drops her sword. Inyoung brings her hand to her own face, pressing her thumb against her cheek and checking her palm to see blood smeared across it. The wound begins to leak enough for it to cloud Inyoung’s vision. Ilya gasps and it breaks whatever spell Inyoung is under, because a sharp pain blooms from the gash. She covers her eye, screaming, “What did you do?!” as she drops to her knees, tossing the sword in her other hand. She groans, trying to keep pressure on the wound, hearing Ilya begin to run away. “Where are you going?!” she demands, “Stay with me! Ilya!”

“I’m getting Dad and Papa!” Ilya yells, “Just… just stay  _ right here _ , okay?!”

Inyoung grits her teeth. All she can think about is how she’s just not sure if her eye got hit and whenever she tries to open it up, she sees darkness. Her heart pounds, the sensation loud enough that it’s all she hears in her ears, only pulled out of it by a firm hand on her shoulder and a second one at her wrist.

“Inyoung,” says a deep voice. She opens up her unaffected eye, seeing her papa kneel in front of her. 

She moves her mouth, but all she can do is cry out. He hushes her, murmuring, “I’m going to lift your hand,” before he carefully pulls it away from her face. 

“Let’s see.” Inyoung looks up and watches her dad crouch over, his knees making a popping noise as he lowers himself. He stays behind her papa, his face unreadable. She wonders if there’s a part of him that is a little excited that someone else might have to wear an eyepatch in the family. She promptly decides that she won’t. People should have to look at it.

Her papa gets her arm all the way down and he brings his hand to her cheek. Her vision is blurred from blood and tears, but she can definitely see through her affected eye. When her dad says, “Your eye appears unharmed” it triggers another crying fit. Her dad reaches over and cards her short hair as her papa says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’m  _ so sorry _ , Inyoung!” Ilya wails. Inyoung turns her head and sees her standing toward the exit of the training grounds. It’s hard to focus, but Inyoung is pretty sure she’s crying. 

“I’m going to speak to Ilya,” her dad says, slowly getting up. “Can you handle Inyoung, my love?”

Her papa nods. “It should be fairly simple once she’s cleaned up.”

Her dad brushes his hand against her papa’s and he walks toward Ilya, clasping his hand on her shoulder before he leads her away from the training grounds. 

Her papa says, “I’m going to help you up,” before the two of them attempt to stand together. Her legs feel shaky and she presses up against him, grateful that her papa is solid enough that he doesn’t budge. She continues to lean on him as they begin leaving the training grounds together.

“I’m sorry if I get blood on you,” she mumbles. She checks his tunic and sees a splatter of deep red that stains the white embroidery that details the green fabric. “Oh no…” she starts.

“It’s nothing that can’t be cleaned,” he replies. He rubs her shoulder and holds her closer. They make it to her bed chamber, where he frees up one of his hands to open the door and sit her down at the chair near her desk. He leaves the room briefly to reappear with ointment, bandages, and a wet cloth. He begins methodically cleaning her face, his eyes focused on the cut that she could now better identify as under her eye. 

“We should have a healer look at this to prevent it from scarring,” he says quietly.

“Aw, please no? I can match with you and Dad now,” she suggests. He locks eyes with her for a brief moment, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“ _ What _ ?” she asks.

He sighs, shaking his head before he continues to clean her face. Up close, she can truly see how many scars he has. The lighter tissue threads along his forehead, through his lips, and across his cheekbones. “You shouldn’t wish for scars like ours, Inyoung. They are the product of war, something we devote every day to prevent.”

She frowns. “Well, I don’t mind having a scar from Ilya,” she says. 

“Understood,” he says. He unscrews the top of the ointment and swipes the top of it with his thumb. He gingerly runs it against her cheek, unable to prevent the sting it causes. She hisses and he pulls away for a moment before he subtly shakes his head and resumes putting it on.

“You’re lucky you won’t need stitches,” he notes.

“I just kinda assumed I lost my eye because of all the blood,” she says.

He sighs. “Another result of being born during a time of peace… you haven’t gotten hit in the face enough times to know that facial wounds bleed far more than most injuries.” He takes a square of cotton and sets it under her eye before he awkwardly sets the bandage in place by wrapping a strip around her head. “If this bleeds through, we’re taking you to a healer.”

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks, Papa,” she says. He stays on his knees for a long moment, Inyoung leaning in toward him. He places his hand on hers, his face shifting to concerned. He takes her hand and inspects it, her knuckles speckled with scabs. “Inyoung, did you get into another fight?”

Inyoung tries to pull her hand away, but she knows she’s been found out. She’s glad that he knows by now that she doesn’t throw punches at Ilya. If this was her dad, she could probably have the conversation end with that being made clear, but her papa is persistent. He does not mind weathering whatever he has to in order to get to the bottom of everything.

She takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah, but the kid had it coming.” She can still see the boy’s pinched face in her mind. His lips were curled up in a sneer until she punched him in the mouth, which made him run away as fast as he could.

“Inyoung, we’ve talked about this,” he says, “It’s not worth punching someone, no matter what they say…”

Inyoung feels her throat tighten as she remembers exactly what the kid said. “He called Dad insane, Papa,” she replies, “And he just…  _ wouldn’t stop _ …” She considers telling him exactly what the kid said, but she knows that it’s the usual things that people say when they want to attack her dad. It’s rarely a legitimate critique of his policy, the people choosing to attack his state of mind or how he willfully built a family with someone from Duscur. 

“Then you tell someone,” he reminds her, “You don’t punch people over it.”

She sighs loudly, looking away from him. She pulls her hand away from him, running her fingers along the scabs. “Yeah, well. He didn’t really seem like the reasoning type.”

He brings his hand to his face for a brief moment, shaking his head. 

“What?” she asks.

“I am quite certain I’ve had this conversation with someone else, “ he murmurs. He gently tilts her face, checking her cheek. He brings his hand away, readjusting by leaning back to cross his legs and sit on the floor. “You have inherited your father’s sense of justice. It’s as beautiful as it is terrifying. You need to learn how to use it appropriately.”

Inyoung raises her eyebrows. It feels strange being compared to her dad. Her features favor her papa, her skin tone, hair color, and eye color nearly identical to his. Her connection to her dad is in their mutual interests. They ride their horses whenever they have the chance and have extensive weapon discussions that her papa and Ilya get bored listening to after awhile. But to suggest that there is a part of her similar to her dad beyond it feels like a weight on her that she isn’t quite sure how to lift.

“Do you have to get back to work?” she asks.

His face appears strained for a moment. “I try to not leave your father and Uncle Felix alone in public if I can help it,” he says, “But they’re old enough to be able to behave a little longer.” He stares at the wall for a brief moment. 

Inyoung isn’t sure if he’s joking. She laughs nervously and says, “Uh, I just want to… ask you about something, I guess.”

He finally pulls himself away from whatever spot on the wall held his attention. “Is this a conversation we should have over tea?” he asks.

She scrunches her nose for a moment. “Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, actually. Let’s do that.”

They clean their hands before they rush to the kitchen, trying to be as inconspicuous as two tall, bloodstained people can be. They make a pot of her favorite Almyran pine needle tea and her papa grabs some biscuits before they place everything on a tray. Her papa leads them out, Inyoung carrying the tray as they make their way to her parent’s bed chambers, going out to their private courtyard. They sit at a table set up in the middle of it, Inyoung carefully passes tea cups between the two of them as her papa pours.. 

“And you’re certain Dad and Uncle Felix can handle being alone?” Inyoung asks, tapping her hands nervously against her knees.

Her papa does not break concentration as he continues to pour the tea. He places the pot down and says, “I am certain they will understand that I had my duties as a parent to attend to.” He finally meets her eyes and asks, “Now what was it you wished to speak to me about?”

Inyoung places her elbow on the table, leaning her chin against her palm. She sighs, trying to make sense of her thoughts before she attempts to say them. She looks down at her other hand, tilting it to get a better look at the scabs dotting her knuckles. All she can hear is that asshole she punched in the jaw. How he sneered and told her that he heard her father was so crazy he would burn Fódlan to the ground. She just wishes she could have gotten another punch in before he ran away. 

“Inyoung…” her papa starts.

“Damin doesn’t want to be the heir,” she finally says, wincing as soon as she realizes what she said. It’s definitely a point she wanted to get to, but it’s probably five points below anything else she could have opened with.

Her papa’s jaw tightens for the briefest moment. Neither of them have seen her brother since he graduated from the Officer’s Academy. He chose to travel, sending his latest letter from Almyra, speaking to Uncle Claude’s hospitality. His rejection of the crown was all but implied.

“He was never expected to,” her papa finally replies. 

Inyoung blows on her tea and takes a sip. She lets the liquid stay in her mouth for a long moment, feeling the smokiness consume her before she swallows. She places her tea cup down and sighs. “Uh, I think I want to be the heir.”

Her papa slowly nods. “I see,” he replies.

Inyoung grabs her tea cup again, leaning it back and forth. “Well, what do you think?” she asks.

Her papa takes a sip from his own cup. It almost looks comically small in his massive hands. He places it down and takes a deep breath. “Inyoung, why do you want to be the heir?”

Inyoung shudders. There’s a lack of warmth in his saying her name that she isn’t used to. “I want to continue the good that Dad is doing. To hear everyone speak their mind and figure out how to address their concerns as best as I can.”

He nods. “And are you willing to have your life change to do so?”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs and looks away from her for a moment. She turns around to follow his view, seeing that he’s focused on some vined plant that is growing over some fencing. “You will have to stop getting into fights, for one,” he mutters. 

She faces him again and pouts, but his focus is still far away from her. His hair is pulled back in a combination of braids and if his top wasn’t stained with blood, he would look regal. But there’s tension in his mouth, a grimace that is on the verge of appearing. “I know,” she says, “But, Papa, you weren’t there, you don’t know what he said…”

“Inyoung, your dad’s mind is different,” he says curtly. 

She tilts her head. She finishes her cup of tea and her papa turns around, refilling it for her. “What do you mean?” she asks.

He takes a deep breath. “Your dad doesn’t see things the way others do,” he explains, “Some of it is literal. He sees people and things that we don’t. He feels things at a level of intensity that may not always be seen as appropriate. He can use some of these qualities to be a great king, but…”

“Is that why he sometimes has days he doesn’t come out of your room?” Inyoung asks. She has always been told that he was sick, but it never quite made sense to her. She sees him every day and should know when he’s coming down with something. 

Her papa nods. “Precisely,” he says. He lowers his head and presses his lips together for a long moment. It’s not like him to be outwardly worried about her dad. His worry is concentrated on Damin and his travels or whatever mischief Inyoung and Ilya are up to. This worry is different. It does not weigh down his body, but in his face, particularly the frown that makes her chest ache without fully knowing why.

“How bad is it?” she asks. She pushes her silver bangs back several times, even though they fall back in her face no matter what she does. 

“There are far more good days than bad days. And he can work through bad days better than anyone realizes. I just...” He shakes his head before he takes a sip of his tea. “Inyoung, if you were to become the heir, you would have to be prepared to take the crown at a moment’s notice. I don’t think we would be able to give you the time to mourn. Could you handle it?”

Inyoung stares at him for a long moment, trying to understand what he’s trying to say. “Mourn?” she asks, “You mean… I kinda figured Dad would… retire… or something…” But as the words leave her mouth, she finds herself understanding what he means. “N… no,” she says, “No… you two are supposed to live forever.” Even though she knows that’s not true. Most of her relatives are dead. She never knew them, but she understands that she never can. Her friends have had deaths in their family and she’s tried her best to help them through it, even if it hurt to see them in that type of pain that hollowed them out for months afterwards. 

Her papa gets up, shifting his chair toward her. He places his hand on her shoulder and she leans in toward him, trying her best to resist bursting into tears. “Would you like to hear my vision for this?”

She nods.

“You train as long as you need. In all the areas you must. You join us in the throne room, during meetings, whatever we can get you into. And… maybe ten, fifteen years from now… I am able to pull your dad off the throne. We are there for your coronation and we spend the rest of our days watching our child rule. Preferably without a scar under her eye.” He gently presses his knuckles against the side of her face and she laughs, even though it allows a few tears to shed. “How does that sound?”

“You really think you’re going to get him off the throne?” she asks, wiping under her eyes frantically.

“I’m giving myself at least a decade to figure it out. I’m sure I can get you three in on it, too.” 

Inyoung nods and wraps her arms around him, pressing herself against him. He reaches over to hold her in place, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I think we can make it work,” she says.

He lets go of her and says, “Let’s clean up and go to the throne room. We can speak to your dad afterwards.”

Inyoung nods, looking down at her papa’s shirt. “Oh, wait… blood…”

He picks at the collar of his tunic and shrugs. “Clean up the table and I’ll meet you by the kitchen.” 

Inyoung nods, popping a biscuit in her mouth and checking her own shirt. When she spots a blood stain running down her chest she huffs, making sure to stop by her room and change into a fresh tunic before grabs the tea set and brings it to the kitchen, where her papa is waiting. They walk toward the throne room in silence. She turns toward her papa occasionally, but he’s unreadable, his face already switched to the stern look he usually gives to the public with his hands set behind his back. She stares ahead, trying to emulate him, forming her hands into fists and bringing them in front of herself.

“Needs some work,” he notes.

She huffs. “I don’t look intimidating?” she asks.

His face breaks enough to smirk. “You’ll be king. You won’t have to be intimidating like Uncle Felix or I have to be.”

Inyoung feels her stomach flip. There’s a strange electricity that shoots through her at the acknowledgement of being king. “I guess you’re right,” she replies. They stop at the doors, her papa knocking one of them. The door opens a crack moments later, her Uncle Felix staring at them with one brown eye. He squints for a brief moment before he opens it wider, ushering them in. Inyoung turns toward the modest throne set up in the room, her dad sitting at it with Ilya squeezed next to him, a pout on her face. He finishes up the conversation between himself and a citizen who is expressing concerns about a potential flood zones in his village and her dad raises his hand, ordering Uncle Felix to wait to let the next person in. Ilya charges toward Inyoung and nearly tackles her as she throws her arms around her. She gasps before she lifts her face off Inyoung far enough to inspect her face. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m worried about scarring, but she’ll be fine,” her papa says, turning toward her dad. Her dad reaches toward her and she nods as he gently grabs her chin and turns her cheek toward him. “Are you in pain?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Nah,” she says. It stings a little, but it’s certainly not the worst pain she’s ever been in. “I’m fine.” Ilya begins to rock her from side to side and she says, “ _ Ilya _ , I just said I’m fine!”

“I’m just so sorry!” Ilya exclaims. 

“It’s okay, it was an accident,” Inyoung replies, patting her shoulder until she let go of her. She clears her throat and says, “I also, uh. Wanted to talk to you about something, Dad.”

“I’m listening,” he replies. Her papa wraps an arm around her dad’s shoulder and they lean in closer to each other. 

“I… uh, wanted to be the heir to the throne.” She glances at Ilya for a moment, holding her breath until she sees her face shift to total glee at the news.

She then faces her dad and is greeted to him nodding his head and smiling. “Well then,” he says , “If you are serious about this, we are going to have to have you sit in on anything and everything.” He places his hand on her arm. “Are you certain you’re up for it?”

Inyoung finds herself staring at his temple, noticing strands of gray beginning to form. She frowns, wondering when he got old enough for something like that to happen. She pulls herself away from wondering when her parents aged on her to nod her head. “Absolutely,” she says, “I get to work with you and Papa. Like  _ oh no _ what will I do?”

Her dad turns toward her papa and hisses, “Please commit this moment to memory.” Her papa nods as her dad adds, “I want to remind her of this conversation when she gets angry at us later.”

“Of course,” her papa replies, leaning in to kiss her dad’s cheek.

“Can we  _ please  _ let the next citizen in?” Uncle Felix asks.

Everyone turns toward him, watching him stand with his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently. He gestures toward the door behind him, which faces outside of the castle for citizens to access.

“Of course,” her dad says, returning to the throne. Ilya scampers over to fit next to him as her papa takes his right side. They watch Inyoung expectantly until she joins them, taking her dad’s left side. She watches her papa’s face shift to the stern look he gave earlier and her dad’s lips press together. Inyoung lifts her chin, trying her best to imitate him while waiting patiently for the next citizen to walk in.


End file.
